Grains of Sand
by MaliBiser
Summary: Collection of Gaara's early childhood memories, recollections of a child shunned for an unexplained reason. Series of Gaara-centric oneshots.
1. Grains of Sand

_**Disclaimer:**__the only character I own is Misa-san. Everything else belongs to Masashi Kishimoto._

_**AN - **A series of 8 short oneshots I wrote four years ago and made myself finally clean up yesterday. Hope you'll enjoy._

* * *

_**GRAINS OF SAND**_

_Time is an hourglass._

_Life is one as well_

_and_

_the World is nothing more than _

_an endless array _

_of _

_those quiet time tellers._

_As the sand_

_made of memories, feelings, _

_kept and unkempt promises,_

_slowly but surely_

_goes away,_

_you cannot do anything but live on._

_Waiting_

_for_

_the last grain_

_to fall._

The thing about being a shinobi is that time moves faster for you. You only seem to be sharing the hour with the people around you, but in fact your clock is ticking ahead. Life of a ninja has unpredictable courses and you never know which corner would be the last one you would turn. Your personal papers can state your age, but in reality you are aware a few years should be added to the account. A ninja has to grow up quicker, for there is not a small chance he would leave the world quicker, as well.

When weeks and months hurry up on you in such way, you must be careful not to get disoriented in the whirl of days and nights. That's why a shinobi has to start _remembering _sooner.

Gaara's memories reach far.


	2. Justice

_**Justice**_

It was time for lunch and Temari was trying to help the women in the kitchen.

She might have been only five, but to him she was as tall as a mountain and as old as a desert. She and Kankuro had been around ever since he could remember, and the only people who were taller and older than them were Yashamaru, Misa and Father.

When _they_ stood up, their heads would reach the sky, and you had to crane your neck _reeeal_ much to see their eyes.

But it wasn't any of them that Gaara was peeking at from the door now. He was observing his older sister.

The girl had a hill of plates stacked in her hands and was hurrying to put them on a table. Messy blonde strands pulled out of her pigtails, soaking in the tiny drops of sweat on her brow.

She was carrying so many that they blocked her view, so when she tripped…

'_TEMARI!_'

The frightened expression in her big teal eyes turned into astonishment the moment a palm of a big, familiar hand hit her behind.

Temari couldn't believe it. Gaara couldn't either.

Misa's face was tired and angry, and after Temari ran out of the room with offended hurt in her eyes, her sigh held a touch of regret. Another woman helped her pick up the shards.

Gaara was confused. Temari and Kankuro never talked or played with him (or did anything actually), but they were always somewhere in the background and he had never seen either one of them getting hit.

And although he couldn't tell what being hit was like, he felt that he wouldn't like to know - so when Misa rose her head and their gazes met, his eyes averted to the floor.

* * *

Few months later, on some other afternoon, Gaara watched his siblings help the maids set the table. This time the women were careful to give them easy, more fitting tasks.

Kankuro was hurrying with the chopsticks and Temari was carefully arranging the bowls. They looked so busy and grown-up-like that Gaara suddenly felt the urge to step in and do something, too.

He might have been little, but you don't have to be the size of a mountain to carry a plate.

When a chubby little hand reached for a plate, its owner realized he lacked a few inches to complete the task. It was placed so high that even stepping on his toes couldn't do much.

„Gaara-kun, what are you doing?"

Even though the question startled him, he didn't show it (or at least, believed so). His answer was decided. „Help too."

Misa-san's round, big face might have softened. „Gaara-kun is still too little to help", she noticed.

„Help too."

A single plate was put in his hands. The pale face flushed a bit with a hint of excitement as he ran towards the dinner-table, but his three-year-old legs couldn't keep up with his eagerness and soon the horrible sound of breaking china filled the air.

The white shards clanked when they hit the floor, the sound doubling, tripling in his mind.

Gaara stared at the sharp pieces, stunned. What had he done?

He didn't dare turn around, waiting in fearful anticipation for that one painful hit that was surely to follow... because, the world stopped and there was nothing, nothing except that large familiar hand which will strike in a second, a strike he could do nothing to stop because stopping it was unthought of.

… but nothing happened.

When he rose his head, he found numerous gazes locked onto his small frame. The housemaids and servants, as well as Kankuro and Temari, all in the middle of a movement, staring at him. A redheaded baby.

_Why… Why are they staring at him?_

He searched for Misa-san and saw an unreadable expression on her face. A few shaky heartbeats passed and it started to feel like eternity, when she finally made a move. Hastily walking to the scene of the crime, the woman began picking up the pieces.

He remembered the silence – heavy, tense, broken only by reverberant chinking of glass - marked by a lingering question he was too afraid to ask. The others quickly proceeded on doing whatever they did before and suddenly it seemed like nothing had happened.

But it had.

And the reason they pretended it hadn't was more than just the fact he was three, and little, and clumsy, and nobody expected him to be anything other than that.

They couldn't fool him.

While the others continued setting the table, Temari stood still. More than that, she was unexpectedly returning his gaze. And there, mixed with the usual fear that always greeted his figure, there was anger. Rightful anger.

Because they both knew that he should have been spanked as well, and that this wasn't right.

It would pass many years before he would learn the phrase '_double standards_', but even though he might have not known the name, the meaning had been crystal clear.

You don't have to be the size of a mountain to understand, either.


	3. Father

_**Father**_

Gaara's father is the Kazekage. That means he is the strongest and most powerful person in the village. But Gaara doubts that.

He's not as tall as some other fathers are, he's too slim and almost never does anything by himself. Foreign people cook for him, clean for him and go to war for him – and they never seem to leave his side. Always hurrying in and out, in and out… so fast that the four-year-old can't keep up the counting.

So maybe Father _is_ the Kazekage, but then the role must have a different meaning Gaara isn't familiar with.

* * *

One day, after their usual ninjutsu training, two men wearing Sunagakure headbands ran into the training grounds.

„Kazekage-sama! Kazekage-sama!"

Gaara frowned and observed the men who whispered something to his father. They were in such a rush that they even forgot to twitch in Gaara's presence – something that never seemed to slip from people's minds.

Father listened and frowned, only to smile after a few moments of careful thinking. That meant he had made a decision.

„Gaara, you'll be coming with me. We're leaving immediately."

That was a first. While the two shinobi glanced at each other with strange expressions, Gaara's face shone with happiness.

„Where are we going, Father?" he asked while trying not to fall out of pace which the man's long legs had established.

„The guards caught some ex-Suna soldiers in a trap near the Red Rocks. They tried to steal some of the village secret scrolls and run away. Today I'll show you how to deal with traitors."

The Red Rocks were a block of sand-shaped cliffs and boulders not far away from the village, a place where the local children weren't allowed to go. But everyone knew Gaara wasn't an ordinary Suna child.

The Red Rocks were called Red because everything about them was red. Red stones, red sand, red sky and people: two men and a woman cornered against a stone wall.

They looked wild and desperate, and kunai shook in their hands as they yelled things that made no sense to the boy. The yelling only got louder when they noticed the Kazekage.

„Stay back", Father said to Gaara and so he did. Suna's leader took one step closer.

„_You can try whatever you want, Kazekage, but you're not dragging us back alive!"_

The man who shouted that was the same size as the stone wall behind him. Gaara's eyes grew big. That must have been the strongest man he had ever seen. The man's small head almost got lost in the loads of pure muscles beginning with his neck, and his short legs seemed almost unable to carry such a huge torso. The hands were long and lethal, and the eyes mad and frantic. It was a killing machine.

Father's figure looked so small and weak in comparison.

And yet, Father calmly continued walking towards the angry giant.

The giant made a threatening move and the Suna guards shouted warnings to their leader and raised their weapons – but Father declined their help with a wave of his hand.

„Who says I want you back alive?" he asked.

The trio paused for a moment, and their startled eyes widened, but then the big one roared and dashed forward.

Gaara helplessly stared, feeling how the warning cry stuck in his throat. Every second now the big guy will demolish his father – a cloud of dust will hide the scene – the scene of his father leveled with the ground, red as the stones, the sand and the sky – and no one tries to help – why does no one help him – what are they waiting for – can't they see that Father – Father…?

Impossible.

And yet true.

Just a second – a bare _second_ – before the guy's fist made collision with Father's face, a small glint of bright blue light left Father's hand and the man… The man…

Fell.

„Father…?"

The other man and the woman fell as well, but on their knees – not face-first onto the sand like their comrade - to beg for mercy. Father just spared each one a glare and turned away.

„Take care of them", he motioned to the guards and searched for Gaara.

Gaara was… blown away.

Father _is _big and strong! More than that! He's bigger and stronger than those who are big and strong!

Gaara was proud of him, just like Father sometimes used to be proud of Gaara.

The redheaded boy smiled at the man and happily remarked that Father's lips twitched, too.


	4. Misa san

_**Misa-san**_

If a scorpion stings you, run to the nearest ambulance and look for people in white.

If an enemy attack occurs, a personal Kage squad of bodyguards will rush to protect you.

Gaara did something again? There are trustworthy family friends who will know what to do and have the decency to keep their mouth shut.

For anything else you may need, just call Misa-san.

* * *

Misa-san.

The queen of the kitchen, the indisputable ruler of the Kazekage household.

His father may have been the wisest and strongest person in the village, but even he couldn't quite match the aura of authority that surrounded this middle-aged woman.

When her brow furrowed and her voice lifted, it seemed like a _sandstorm_.

When she chuckled and kissed, it felt like a breeze.

The lady was very well aware of her power and used it without much qualms – to protect those who needed her help and punish all who threatened the house peace. Although she would often grumble about how loaded with work she was, she never allowed a helping hand to meddle in her business, secretly afraid that the whole world might fall apart if she took her eyes from it for a second.

Gaara had no reason not to believe that.

Although no one ever dared to tease the short-tempered woman and people were very careful to avoid her during her monthly migraine – he clearly felt that she was dear to them.

The feeling was mutual.

Gaara didn't know if she had ever had children and family of her own, but if she did they were long gone. This house was her family now and the three poor motherless Kazekage's children felt like hers.

Well… More or less.

* * *

No one knew how to solve everyday problems like she did, no one knew exactly where to look for lost things like she knew and _no one_ knew how to fight off various coughs and colds like Misa.

When his siblings were sick, first thing she'd do was to frown. After that, she would feel their foreheads, make them eat soup and tell them stories, waiting for the fever to cool down.

He wasn't sure which part of the procedure did the trick, but the result was always the same and the illness would always neatly retreat.

Gaara was never sick so she had never made him a soup or told him a story.

There was another thing.

Temari was Temari. Kankuro was Kankuro. But Gaara was Gaara-kun.

„_Gaara-kun."_

When Misa-san laughed or yelled at his siblings, she would do so in a loud way that made the whole house shake. At him she never yelled and rarely smiled. Those occasional weak smiles were frail and faint and would disappear the moment she would avert her gaze.

His heart would sink a little every time.

She wasn't afraid of him and there was one of the reasons he respected her, as well as thought twice before doing something uncalled for in her presence. But, naturally, he also couldn't show the same amount of devotion Kankuro and Temari had for her.

Gaara knew that if she were gone they would be devastated, and the whole worldmight fall apart. _But not his world,_ he felt. _Not his world._

Her warmth didn't reach him. She chose to keep it all away.

* * *

One evening, Gaara stood alone in the living room.

Father was at work, his siblings hid somewhere, and the help probably stayed in the kitchen or other places.

He was feeling unhappy for a reason he didn't understand and at such times he chose to avoid people the same way they avoided him.

He observed his mother's photograph.

Silence.

Rustling of the wind outside.

Suddenly, the quiet sliding of the doors. Someone entered.

Gaara didn't turn, waiting for the person to quickly retreat upon noticing his presence.

„Oh, Gaara-sama?"

He quickly flipped his head, surprised.

„Yashamaru?" Young uncle shot his nephew an eye-crinkled smile, somewhat awkwardly rising his hand to the back of his head.

„I'm sorry for disturbing you, I didn't think I'll find you here alone." Gaara's eyes saddened at the statement and averted to the floor. His presence made the medic feel discomfort. He wanted to be in this room and couldn't, because _Gaara_ was already there, occupying the space. He felt like such a nuisance. Unwanted. Troublesome.

„Is everything alright?" a voice interrupted his brooding, and Gaara realized with great surprise that Yashamaru had crouched beside him, lowering himself to his eye-level.

„Y-yes", redheaded boy automatically replied.

„Hmmm…" Yashamaru gave him a doubtful look, but didn't push the matter further.

„ I was actually looking for your father. Has he come home yet?"

„No", Gaara answered shyly, avoiding his gaze. „He's still at the Kazekage Tower, I'm sure you can still find him there."

With that he turned towards the picture and waited for the young man to go, to leave him like the rest would.

„It's alright. I'll wait for him here." Gaara sharply turned around to see his uncle comfortably settled in one of the sofas. „I've been working in the hospital almost non-stop lately. I haven't seen you in such a long time", the young face was smiling at him. „So? How have you been? … Gaara."

As he watched the light smile on Yashamaru's face and felt his own forming on his lips, Gaara hoped - really, _really_ hoped – that maybe, just maybe, _he_ could be his Misa-san.

* * *

Few years later when Misa actually died of perfectly boring natural causes, the world, of course, didn't fall apart. Still, it wasn't the same.

On the other hand, neither was Gaara.


	5. Mother

_**Mother**_

Gaara didn't know his mother. She had died the night he was born.

But even though he never met her, he knew her name, what she looked like, and that she loved him very much. Yashamaru told him so.

And although the word _love_ had a very abstract meaning to him, he still liked watching her photograph and pretending that she wasn't entirely gone.

On that day, he was looking at her picture - like he had done so many days before - and imagined what she would do or say if she were still alive. And on _that_ day, he realized she looked a lot like her brother.

'Yashamaru looks like Mother', he thought as he compared the woman's face to the young man. 'So does Temari', his sister's eyes drifted into his mind. ' ... and both Kankuro's and Father's hair is brown and eyes are black.'

It hit him then. A harsh blow, striking out of nowhere.

As he suddenly leaped to his feet and ran to the mirror, his little heart started to beat hard with panic.

The sleek frame showed clearly: the pale face, the unruly red patch of hair, the strange light green eyes, circled with dark rings.

_'Who do I look like?'_

His heart sped up when he realized that he couldn't find the answer.

That was when the doubts started.

What if he wasn't their child? What if he didn't belong to this family? What if somewhere else he had some other Mother and Father who'd come and take him away if he didn't behave the way he ought to?

Breathing became hard. The redheaded boy stared at him from the mirror.

He had never been more afraid in his life, although he grew up in a ninja family and had already seen many people die.

Even if Temari and Kankuro never did anything, even if Father didn't smile approvingly at him so often anymore, even if Misa-san kept calling him Gaara-kun… He didn't want to leave!

Those doubts were eating him alive that night.

And the following.

And the one after that one.

Asking for a straightforward answer did cross his mind, but was deserted almost the same moment. Because. What if he asked and found out he was right? What if he asked and let them know he knew, giving them every excuse to call for the unknown Parents?

What then?

* * *

Because he didn't want them to start thinking he had realized something, he started avoiding them. If they were still near, he would act grumpy to prevent them from asking questions. But because they avoided him when he acted grumpy, and never asked any questions, he also became sadder.

On the third night of the agony, he thought to himself, _if this was what his life would look like from now on, it might be better if he just stopped breathing right there and then!_

It was not long after that when the Voice appeared.

The Voice was quiet, had no body, and it purred like big cats sometimes do.

He thought it sounded familiar, like something he had heard before... but it was just a vague memory - like a memory from a dream, although Gaara never slept and didn't have any dreams for comparison.

It told him that he didn't have to be afraid anymore; that, if he would only listen to it, the Voice would take care of him from then on.

And Gaara thought he knew whom this voice belonged to. It was the only person it _could_ have belonged to.

„_Mother._"

The Voice neither confirmed nor denied, but he knew. Mother wasn't entirely gone. She came to take care of him. After all, she_ loved_ him. After all, Yashamaru told him so.

Years after, he would ask himself how he could have ever mistaken Shukaku's snarling for the voice of his dead mother. But when he thought about it, he remembered how back then the thought made perfect sense. He felt how, in a way, it still made sense, even though it was horribly wrong.

Anyway, that was the night he stopped doubting.

If Mother's voice came to him, it was enough of a proof.


	6. Night Wanderings

**A/N - **_this one's my favourite._

* * *

_**Night Wanderings**_

_Nights are…_

A redheaded boy swung his legs to the rhythm of a kitchen clock.

_Boring._

He sighed and got down from a chair. When he sat on it, his feet couldn't reach the floor.

Not really knowing where to go or what to do, he listlessly stepped into a dark hallway. The house was quiet, and the darkness lifeless. After a few moments of pointless gazing at the closed entrance door, he turned away and headed towards the staircase.

Each step creaked into the night – the only sound disturbing the silence. …

Actually, no. If he tried hard enough, he could hear stifled snoring and even breathing of his family members. All sound asleep.

Dark-ringed eyes narrowed slightly.

The redhead proceeded towards his room, trying to decide whether to escape out into the night or not. Muffled howling of the wind was getting stronger. A desert storm could break out soon. Not particularly appealing.

Gaara haven't slept for so long he forgot the reason and even wondered if there was such a time when he did. He didn't even feel the need. Still, it didn't mean he found wakefulness comfortable. With all other people around him asleep, he had nothing to do. They weren't much of a company when they were awake, but at least the house seemed alive. And him less alone.

_Nothing to do, nothing to do…_ His toys got boring and Father stopped getting him new ones some time ago for a reason unknown… but he didn't want to think about it. He dragged his feet through empty halls.

Kankuro had toys. Puppets. Simple gadgets made of wood and hinges that could move on their own if you pulled the right string or wound up the right screw. _Better than anything he could find in his room_, at least. _And forbidden _– which gave them extra charm.

Kankuro wouldn't know. Even if he knew, he probably wouldn't do a thing.

Just for a while. Just until the dawn.

Reluctantly, Gaara neared his brother's room. He paused before the closed door. They were probably locked.

_To keep him away_, he thought. That was what Temari and Kankuro did – lock themselves in their rooms at night, hoping it would be enough protection from their ever-awake younger brother, at least until the morning came.

_But, maybe… Just this once…_ a small hand reached out and tugged.

Locked.

"…"

Gaara turned away, being rather angry at himself for feeling disappointment. It was stupid to believe Kankuro would leave them unlocked. _Stupid…_

He was pondering over another way of having fun only to come up with nothing when his eyes slid over a dark, empty room on his left. The doors were open and a clear track of moonlight fell over the mess on the floor.

Light turquoise eyes widened in childish amazement.

He got closer and knelt in front of Kankuro's toys scattered all over the spot. _He must have forgotten to put them away…_

The boy gingerly pulled one's string. A small creature-like toy shook and made a few quick, stiff steps. A quiet _whoa!_ escaped the redhead's lips. He touched another one and observed its mechanical moves.

Soon enough, there weren't Gaara and his brother's dolls sitting on the floor wet with moon rays. There was a village, an _entire_ village, with living wooden dwellers – and that village was fighting a sandstorm.

Silvery grains poured from Gaara's gourd, shifting and swirling by imaginary houses, sprinkling over invisible rooftops. A night just like the real one outside.

_Swoosh!_

_Whiiish!_

The sand whirled, flying in and out of the shadowy corners of the room, gaining a silvery glow when touched by the moon. Little dunes formed and quickly reformed a few inches away. The toys – _wrong,_ the villagers - blindly walked towards the storm, initiated by his touch. Constantly getting buried and unburied by his sand…

_THUD!_

He quickly turned his gaze to the door. The magic broke like bubbles.

He wasn't in some unnamed village hidden among the dunes anymore. He was sitting in his perfectly real house, on the perfectly real floor between scattered puppets and fallen sand.

At the door stood his older brother, pure shock written all over his face, pure shock that even the shadows in which he stood couldn't hide.

* * *

Kankuro woke up in the middle of night. Nature's call.

For a moment he thought about holding it in, but his bladder strongly opposed the idea. He quietly growled.

The brown-haired stopped at the door. He hesitated, trying to assess the possibility of encountering his younger brother. He knew Gaara had a habit of roaming the house at night, but he went outside just as frequently. Maybe he wasn't even there.

Kankuro unlocked.

The bathroom wasn't far away from his room. He wouldn't have to walk for long. Plus, it had a lock. All he had to do was reach it very fast.

Tiptapping of his bare feet sounded eerie in the shadowy hallways. Almost as if he were alone in the house. He and whatever it was that lived in the dark and fed on children's nightmares. Kankuro shuddered.

Finally – the bathroom! Just a few more steps, just this last corridor.

He hurried past the open doors of the room on the left without paying attention, but his eyes couldn't overlook the slight caught movement. The boy's head snapped to check it on a reflex. He froze.

In the dark room sat Gaara.

Destroying Kankuro's toys with sand.

Kankuro shook, unable to move. His shocked mind couldn't even comprehend the _thud_ of a vase rolled over by his foot. At that moment, the monsterthat was his brother rose his head and a dark-ringed gaze bore into his face.

Kankuro's mouth quivered slightly, trying to muster a word. He couldn't.

Barely, as if his legs were made of iron, he started moving, started running towards his room, towards the escape.

Loud bang announced his success.

* * *

Gaara lowered his gaze to the wooden forms on the floor around him. The mad thumping of his heart slowed down. He started breathing again.

He got _caught_!

The sight of his brother's face still didn't vanish before his eyes. Angry, mad and… full of fear, of course.

Kankuro ran away and left his toys to him. He won't be coming back to scowl at him for taking them, that was for sure. Maybe, it would be best if he pretended nothing happened and continued playing? Yes. He could do that. _It would be best_, he tried to reassure himself. His heart pace still wasn't quite the usual.

Gaara took a breath and focused on the toys again. His finger touched a wooden animal. It hurried on its way, passed a few centimeters, then stopped.

He tried to picture it gazing at a sand-swept village. He couldn't.

The next few attempts lasted only a few seconds. That was how much it took for the imagery to break. He couldn't keep it up. The village defied being rebuilt.

Finally, Gaara gave up.

The redheaded boy pulled his legs closer to his body and vacantly gazed at the milky light scattering patterns on the wooden floor.


	7. Purpose

_**Purpose**_

Ever since Gaara could remember, he was surrounded by sand.

It may be that it had been the first matter he truly got to know, because the memories of it were richer and deeper than those of his siblings or Father.

The sand was there before the faces of men emerged and shaped in his consciousness and Gaara learned soon enough that it was far more trustworthy.

It had followed him through his earliest days. This one, for instance – a day that happened a very, very long time ago because Gaara had been very, very little.

The memory was one of the blurriest, and so he knew it had to be one of the oldest.

If he would concentrate hard enough, he could summon the orange-yellow atmosphere of a hot desert afternoon. The sand was everywhere – underneath his butt and slipping through his fingers. He played with it, but not like the other kids played; he would realize that another day, when he would suddenly get struck by the revelation that not everyone in Sunagakure could make the grains rise and fall on a mental command.

He made it go up... and down. And up... and down. But after the umpteenth repetition, the game got boring. He needed something new.

Gaara could barely walk, but the sand moved freely and fast. It floated before him and he half-crawled, half-bounced after the shifting wave.

At one moment, a speck of green caught his attention, so the boy started towards it. The thing that broke the monotonous scenery had been a lizard – a small creature, partly covered in desert's blanket. Big reptile eyes didn't blink and its scales wore a complex pattern of greenish brown. It stood perfectly still.

Until Gaara came close enough, at least.

The lizard bolted a few centimeters away, for good measure. The speed was incredible and Gaara blinked only to hurry towards the interesting moving thing.

The lizard didn't waste time: it disappeared into the sand immediately. Irked, Gaara rose the sand to reveal the timid animal.

It floated up along with the grains under its feet and floundered, helplessly searching for the hot ground. The sand grains brought it closer to Gaara's eyes for closer examination, but the thing kept wiggling and almost fell off the sand cloud.

He didn't want it to escape yet, so he intensified the sand's grip on it a little, just a little – when something unexpected happened.

The sand tightened its embrace on the small thing and the lizard broke. Stopped wiggling.

The green-brown creature hung from the shifting hand in a wrong, unnatural way, motionless and limp.

Gaara's eyes widened and he shook the little animal a few times only to quickly let the sand hand splash against the ground once he noticed red spots dirtying the shiny yellow.

The lizard was almost completely snapped in two and the fracture was perfectly visible to his eyes.

_He didn't want to do it!_ But it had been done.

_It was an accident!_ But one that couldn't be mended.

Horror clasped upon Gaara.

The small corpse lay accusingly, pointing a little imaginary finger at him, speaking plainly and loudly: Gaara did something bad.

That was right; lots of things were shady and unknown to him in those days, but one thing was clear for sure. Breaking this little creature was bad – and now Gaara had to be punished.

When Father finds out, he will be mad. And Gaara will be scorned and chastised – just as he, no doubt, deserved – but it will still be horrible.

Panic seized him as foreboding of something grand, shapeless and terrifying gripped his heart.

Before he could think of something, before he could manage to remember hiding the lizard or leaving it, Gaara felt a presence behind his back. He didn't want to turn, but his traitorous head snapped back on its own none the less.

There was Father. Gazing silently.

Gaara's lips quivered. He wanted to do something, to say something (although his vocabulary had been poor and clumsy back then), to justify himself. He couldn't find anything because he knew the deed was beyond justifying.

But Father wasn't looking at him at all. He was looking at the lizard.

The man – tall as a mountain – crouched beside the child for a better view, and Gaara watched him, fearful.

„Did you do this? With sand?" Father's voice was slightly weird, though Gaara couldn't put his finger on it. The boy was unable to muster an answer. The anticipation was horrible.

All of a sudden, Father started to laugh. To laugh. And it sounded happy. It sounded loud.

Gaara watched him stunned: _What could this mean?_

„It's good, Gaara! You did good!" And then Father did something else Gaara couldn't remember him ever doing again. He couldn't find it in any other memory.

Father lowered his big hand and stroked his hair. The sun shone strongly above the man's face, making it appear dark to the boy's eyes, but it clearly never lost the smile. He could remember the scene very well. - The scene and the kind of relief that washed over him.

_Oh._ Father wasn't mad. _It must be okay then._

Strange as it had been, it must have been okay.

The boy calmed, appeased, and smiled at Father's warm hand.


	8. Flying

_**Flying**_

Sun.

_There's light everywhere._

Wind.

_Blowing through his hair._

Speed.

_He's going so fast._

Sand.

_It's FUN!_

A redheaded boy flies, he _really_ flies! Above the desert and under the sky, somewhere in between, in mid air. The sand lifts his small body and takes him anywhere he wants: right, left, straight, up and down… Gaara is smiling.

It's incredible! Something like this can't exist and yet here he is!

Open spaces before him, Sunagakure behind… If he continues this way, maybe some day he would reach that line between the sky and the earth where the sun disappears every night. The line behind the dunes.

… but not today.

It's getting late and he has gone too far. He should get back. Enough of solo-training for the time being.

With his eyes still locked on the setting sun, Sabaku no Gaara heads back. He lets the sand waves take his body elsewhere, to that place called home.

_Home?_

The question is quickly forgotten, as the wind ruffles his brick-red hair.

The walls of the Sand Village grow bigger.

* * *

The shadows of the tall walls fall upon him and Gaara slows down, ignoring the petrified expressions of the guards. He knows it would be wiser to land, but flying makes him feel _so good_ and he is reluctant to let the nice feeling fade. So, he stalls. He lazily drifts through the stone passage, delaying the moment of entry – doing his best not to imagine what his arrival would cause.

After all, _it's not like they haven't seen him flying before. They should have gotten used to it by now._ … Right?

Still, while getting closer and closer to that square of sun that proclaims the passage's end, Gaara unconsciously comes to the point of barely moving. His already set up expressionless face hardens upon floating into the light.

* * *

It was like it had always been.

Mortified, stone-like faces, carefully trying not to twitch or do anything to draw attention on themselves nor to show they've noticed his presence. Tense muscles, slightly quickened pace, and what he maybe hated the most: that damn, unbearable _silence_! – rapidly replaced by soft hisses of whispers the moment they thought they had managed to get out of his ear-shot.

But it was always like that. So, why getting upset? He was used to it… wasn't he?

Gaara tried his best to ignore the fuss and focused on the dear, valued sense of his body defying the air currents and floating freely.

He _enjoyed _it. He rose above the whispers and faces, where he could let a comfourtable, peaceful blankness flood his mind. Not thinking about anything, just savouring the moment. And the feeling. Flying.

Gaara took in a deep breath. Light turquoise eyes closed.

Sun.

_(… sharp, surprised gasps…)_

_It's getting hot. Is it noon already?_

Wind.

_(… whisper, whisper, whisper…)_

_It's stuffy back here in the village!_

_(… Was that just him?! …)_

Speed.

_He can't go fast in here. The roofs are too compact. The village's too crowded._

Sand.

Gaara opens his eyes and lowers them to the grains wrapped around his feet. A small, unconscious frown grows and fixates on his face. His fists clench.

_He can't find it! He can't find the peace!_

The anger that was building up for quite some time now, charging day by day, threatens to burst out.

_Why? What had he done to them? Why did they have to ruin his good mood? Why are they always doing this? Every – time – he – comes – near!_

* * *

The redheaded boy flies lower, leveling with the villagers. They stiffen in response. The bright light of the midday makes the contours of the small silhouette stand out in a strange, sharp way. He had never looked more like a demon than this moment, carried by the wild desert winds on a heated afternoon. It's _scary._ His hair colour is the one of blood (_of his victims_, goes the rumour), and his eyes are weird, ringed as those of a tanuki. And all the things he does with sand…

It isn't normal. _He_ isn't normal. He's not like them. He's a _threat_.

A timed bomb, counting down to obstruction, and what would happen if he went off right now? Who would protect them? The leader who made him?

What could _they_ do?

* * *

Gaara's sand brings him closer to the ground. Small round windows pass him by, but Gaara doesn't pay them attention. Gaara's too _pissed_. He's only five years old, but his rage seems older, and don't you dare not take it seriously.

Gaara's pissed: of himself and of all those people who choose to pretend not to see him when both know they do!

Today was the last time he played their little game and acted as if he noticed nothing as well! Today he's going to confront them. That's right! The first person who side-glances his way will get what they deserve!

He slows down. Turquoise eyes search the streets, the faces. Anyone? Bring it on!

_There._

That man looked!

Gaara gives out an inward order and the grains cut the distance. The sand wave dissolves under his feet and he lightly jumps down.

„You!" the child calls out in a commanding voice. The man freezes. His lips quiver, but his pride has been flicked, so he tries to mask the obvious fear with a hard, hateful expression.

Wrong. The face just annoys Gaara more.

The random observers are quick to get lost in the narrow alleys.

Gaara ignores them and concentrates fully on the man. He takes one step closer: „Why are you-"

„S-s-stay back! You hear?" the man screeches and jumps back, the brave mask momentarily slipping off.

Gaara blinks. „Hey..."

„Don't come near me, monster!"

That… that _word!_

His fist clutches and the baby teeth bare out. _He called him a…!_

„Gaara-sama, no!"

A new man steps into the picture - a tall figure in full army gear.

_Baki?_

One of Father's men.

„Please, restrain the Shukaku!" the soldier whispers frantically, and that voice and the hint of pleading in the usually strict man's gaze baffle him. His eyes widen and lips form to oppose, but the words remains unsaid.

Gaara's expression darkens into an angry pout and the eyes of the child lock with those of the man.

Finally, Gaara's chin quivers, his brow smooths out and the blank expression resumes its place.

Jinchuuriki wordlessly turns and gets lost in the shadowy alleys.

* * *

_They did it again!_

They mistook him for someone else, _again_!

It was _him_, _Gaara_, who got angry - Shukaku had nothing to do with it – and they must've, _should've_ known he would never do that man harm!

He would yell, sure, tell him to stop acting as if Gaara carried a serious disease and, alright, he'd probably wave his sand around in a menacing way – but he wouldn't actually _attack_!

To attack was something Shukaku would do, and Gaara had as much connections with his doings as Baki himself or that lady who sold dango on a stick a few meters down the road. If it were Shukaku's rage that broke out some minutes ago, the consequences would be entirely different.

For one thing, Shukaku wouldn't bother with words, he would strike at once. No Father's subordinate could make him leave.

If it were Shukaku, red spots would overlay his vision, the mad desire would boil inside and Gaara, realGaara, would drown in it – emerging to the surface only when it would all already be over and the sand wet with…

Like the first time… Ever since the first time, when he had learned that everything that was bad and wrong in his life had a name.

_Shukaku_.

How stupid were they, not seeing something so obvious?

Shukaku might have been somewhere inside of him (that much he understood from the frantic looks _he_ was getting), but they weren't the same, oh, no. That was one thing Gaara was absolutely certain about.

The second thing he was absolutely certain about was that Shukaku and Mother had nothing to do with each other. Absolutely not. How was it that Mother's sand – full of _love_ and protection – did all those horrible things on Shukaku's command, he didn't know and didn't want to find out… It just - _didn't_!

All those people lying in the sand – they weren't _Gaara's_ doing! How could no one understand such an obvious thing…?

And even if they were. Even if Gaara would do such things – didn't they _want_ him to kill? Wasn't Father the one who showed him that was his purpose?

He remembered the lizard, and the giant Father had punished.

Wasn't it alright to kill then?

Why was it good then and a problem now? Why was Father proud then, and discontented _now_? Couldn't they make a choice? Couldn't they decide?

_What did they want of him?_

_WHAT DID THEY WANT HIM TO DO?!_

* * *

It was enough! He was tired…!

Of trying to adjust, of attempting to stay on their good side. He would never succeed because they themselves didn't know what they wanted. Useless!

So that's it! Gaara is giving up on them. They can stutter and stumble and tense as much as they want to – Gaara doesn't care anymore. He won't let another scowl ruin his day. He will fly if he wants to, he will play with his sand if he wants to, and he won't let them do anything about it.

And as for Mother and Shukaku…

Maybe he'd run away, maybe one day he _would_ fly off to the desert and _wouldn't_ stop, not until he would find that faraway line miles and miles away where the sky and the earth touch, where Shukaku could attack dunes with dunes as much as he'd like without making Gaara feel regret, and where Mother could love and protect him with all the sand in the world!


	9. Sand

_**Sand**_

Gaara shook.

The coldness of the night had nothing to do with it.

Gaara shook, with his whole body, his shoulders and hands caught in an uncontrollable tremble. Tiny convulsions jolted his muscles.

The small figure kept shaking, letting the icy roof tiles numb his legs and the nightly desert winds ruffle his hair and clothes.

The air felt even cooler against his wet face, which was salty and sticky.

Salty from tears, sticky from…

He abruptly shut his eyes – squeezing them tightly, tightly – but the scene refused to vanish. It followed him all the way he had run, not leaving him for a second.

Another face, salty and sticky.

A face he had seen thousand times, a face he always looked forward to, now gory and blank. He had made it bleed.

_'No…'_

New tears trailed the path down his cheeks.

_'No…!'_

He hunched in pain. Clammy fingers clung for the brick-red hair.

_'Make it go away!'_

It hurta lot.

_'Make it GO AWAY!'_

His forehead ached, but it wasn't the blunt type of pain caused by pressure of the amassed, unleashed tears.

It stung. The left side of his brow where he had inflicted the kanji earlier, at the moment of madness, burnt.

_Love._

The wounded skin felt so sensitive.

And the voice that made him make it, the voice who made him do _everything_ went away and left Gaara alone!

There are no light spots now. Everything is dark and everywhere is dark, because Gaara needs his uncle so badly, his advice and kind words, and those will never come again because Gaara killed him.

He can't fix what he has done, he can't change it or make it disappear.

He is frozen in this eternal moment of horror, robbed of the future, and the past suffocates.

He is trapped.

* * *

Time was slipping by like a thief, stealing hours of the night unnoticed.

The convulsions thinned and the sobs quieted. Silent drops shimmered under the moonlight and down his chin before they splattered on his knees. He felt so tired, and for a hundredth time in his life wished that he could sleep.

Something was near him, in the dark.

Gaara quickly opened his eyes. Huge, wide, teary light-green irises took in the vast desert, the stunning array of stars and the smooth rooftops ahead. All clear. There was nothing there. Uneasy awareness settled in his stomach.

Again! A soft movement caught by the corner of an eye.

He hastily turned around and faced the sand grains. They were silvery in the pale light. Floating through the air, gentle and slow, nearer and nearer. Cautiously, they moved around his small frame like a slim, glimmering snake. Almost as if trying to offer a weak comfort.

The silken, tender waves of sand.

_'Mother…'_

…_shhhhhh_, the sand shifted in the cold silence of the night.

_'What have we done?!'_

The convulsions reappeared. A small cry escaped.

* * *

It was moments like this…

„_Bakemono!"_

…when his mother's love wasn't enough to protect him…

„_Freak!"_

… when the shouts of those people echoed through his head, and he would realize he agreed with them…

„… _bloodthirsty monster!"_

... that he knew they…

„_Quick! Run!"_

„_Is it him?!"_

will never stop!

„_Please… Don't!"_

„_Did you see that?"_

They will never stop hating him!

„_Gaara…?"_

Father…

„_Gaara."_

looks at him with such discontent!

„_Don't come near me!"_

„_Murderer!"_

There was no one.

„_Gaara-sama…"_

There will be no one.

„_Gaara-kun…"_

He is alone.

* * *

The moon rays shone upon the scarred tissue. A red kokoro sign.

Love.

Only myself.

While the hatred the pledge had sealed sunk deeper into his heart, into the very core of his being, he thought about how from now on it could only get worse.

And for the next six long years, until the day he met Naruto Uzumaki, Gaara was right.

**The end**

* * *

**A/N - **_I put this story into Angst/Family category, but I like to think of it as Hurt/Comfort. There's plenty of hurt, as you might've noticed, but nothing really falls under comfort on first or second glance, so I'd like to offer my view on this 'failed logic'. :)  
_

_This story feels positive to me because of everything that is not written in it, yet the audience will know. What makes me smile is the knowledge that this tormented, misunderstood, confused little boy grew up into one of the coolest, wisest, most compassionate Kages ever._

So thanks, Naruto. We owe you one. :)

_Thanks for reading and reviewing!_


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